


Rising From The Ashes

by imsorryimlate



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Eventual Smut, Flashbacks, Geographical Inaccuracies, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Masturbation, On the Run, Pining, Pre-Canon, Religious Guilt, Serious Injuries, Sibling Incest, Vladimir remembers a lot, religious character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-03-29 08:41:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3889819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imsorryimlate/pseuds/imsorryimlate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Vladimir sighed into Anatoly’s hair and tightened his grip around him. Any normal person would’ve drawn away from the subject of their unholy thoughts, but there were a handful of reasons to why he didn’t. Not only was the sharing of body heat crucial to their survival, but sleeping like this, embracing his brother, breathing in synch… it was the closest thing he would get to what he truly wanted. He could allow himself that much at least.</em>
</p>
<p>A story about the brothers' past and their changing relationship as they escape from Utkin and make their way to the land of riches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you will enjoy this work. It's unbeta'd, so any mistakes are my own, and I apologise in advance for any inaccuracies regarding culture and religion; I try my best to do proper research, but sometimes it isn't enough.

Vladimir stared out into the darkness of the cold cell he was locked into. Anatoly’s breath on his neck was the only source of warmth. He listened to his brother’s steady inhales and exhales and tried to let it sooth him, tried to let it bring him to sleep. It didn’t work. It was too cold and he was too hungry.

Vladimir had believed that he had perfected the art of going to sleep with a growling stomach when he’d been to prison for the first time, but he had been proved wrong. Still, he’d never thought that he would miss the rank food served back then. Here, at Utkin, it was worse; the few times they were fed, their bread was hard as a brick and the watery porridge was never without something living crawling in it.

It had been a couple of days since they had been given something to eat. Sometimes, they had the luxury of practically passing out from the hunger and the cold and the weakness they created. But not this time. At least not Vladimir; Anatoly was sleeping with his arms wound tightly around Vladimir’s waist and his head cushioned on Vladimir’s shoulder. The only way to keep the cold at bay in this hellhole was to share body warmth, so they always slept tangled together. It had been a long time since that had been part of their daily routine. When they first arrived at Saint Artemy Verkolsky’s Orphanage, at the age of 6 and 7 respectively, the beds had been scarce, so the brothers had shared. After only a month they had been given separate beds, and the housemistress had slapped Vladimir when she caught him trying to sneak into Anatoly’s. They had been children, seeking comfort where they could find it; in each other. Mrs. Kozlova hadn’t seen it that way.

Anatoly stirred next to him, then shifted closer. Probably tried to catch more of Vladimir’s deficient heat.

“You’re awake,” he mumbled into Vladimir’s ear after a minute. Vladimir shivered and blamed it on the cold.

“Yes.”

“Why?” Anatoly asked, as if he didn’t know. Perhaps he just wanted the conversation, no matter how insignificant it was.

“I couldn’t sleep.” It sounded better than ‘ _I’m so hungry I’m gonna eat Alexei’s foot soon.’_

Anatoly sighed and settled more comfortably against him.

“I was remembering,” Vladimir told Anatoly. He often remembered; there was not much else do to. The days were long and blended into each other. He wasn’t actually sure how long they had been in there. But he was careful not to get lost in the past; if he did, he would stop moving forward and this imprisonment would become his reality instead of a temporary bump in the road. He planned for the future; exploring every possible path in his mind. But he took time to remember. The past was precious to him, it was what defined him. The many tattoos on his body were a testament to that.

“What were you remembering?” Anatoly asked him.

“Mrs. Kozlova. She would find us really improper now.”

Anatoly let out a small noise that was not quite a snort, but obviously amused.

“I never understood what her problem was,” he said.

“It was all about promoting a moral and correct lifestyle. They fostered us to be independent and good men. Emotional neediness had no place there.”

“We were recently orphaned children,” Anatoly said.

“Even better; lost children are a clean slate, susceptible to guidance and influence. They could form us just like they wanted to.”

“I would say they were unsuccessful, considering our line of work.”

“Yes. What would poor old Artemy say?” Vladimir teased.

“You worry about your saints, brother,” Anatoly said and let go of Vladimir’s waist in order to turn around so that Vladimir spooned him. The position didn’t offer as much warmth as the previous one, but it did mark the end of the conversation. “Goodnight.”

It didn’t take long for Anatoly’s breathing to fall heavy, so Vladimir was once again left to stare out into nothing by himself. A queasy feeling arose within him. He shouldn’t have brought up Artemy Verkolsky; Anatoly had abandoned his faith the moment they left the orphanage. Vladimir had scolded him for it once, many years ago, and said that God would send him straight to hell. Anatoly had just smiled and said that Vladimir prayed enough for the both of them, and Vladimir had punched him in the face. Sure, he had included his brother in his prayers, still did. But it was something about the way he had said it… presumptuous, almost mocking. They hadn’t broached the subject of religion many times after that. Anatoly avoided the subject like the plague. Perhaps if he had kept to another subject, Anatoly would’ve stayed awake to speak with him.

Vladimir craved his brother’s company in a way he hadn’t before. They had always been close, but never… _more_. Not until now. Prison had a tendency to change boundaries. He had searched in his memories, for a hint or a clue that he had felt this earlier, but whatever he found, he could not trust. His current emotions had the power to twist blurry reminiscences into something they hadn’t been.

Vladimir sighed into Anatoly’s hair and tightened his grip around him. Any normal person would’ve drawn away from the subject of their unholy thoughts, but there were a handful of reasons to why he didn’t. Not only was the sharing of body heat crucial to their survival, but sleeping like this, embracing his brother, breathing in synch… it was the closest thing he would get to what he truly wanted. He could allow himself that much at least.

Oleg woke up and stretched with a low grunt. Alexei stirred when the arms around him disappeared, but didn’t wake up. Their cellmates had followed Anatoly and Vladimir’s example of sleeping close together to escape the worst cold. Supposedly, they would’ve benefitted the most from lying in a big heap together all four, but at the beginning they hadn’t trusted each other enough for that and now they slept in pairs out of habit.

They trusted each other now though, to an extent. Oleg sat up and leaned against the wall. Why was beyond Vladimir; the wall was cold, Alexei was warm.

“I heard you and your brother talk,” Oleg said. It was barely a whisper, but it echoed too loud in the quiet cell.

Vladimir sat up as well, but stayed in the spot so that Anatoly could continue sleeping against his legs.

“And?”

“Are you a religious man?” Oleg asked bluntly.

Vladimir considered this for a moment. He believed in God and said his prayers from time to time, and when need be he confessed his sins to a Father that said God forgave him… but by no means did he lead a righteous life.

“I’d say so,” Vladimir decided.

“Even with all you’ve done?” Oleg asked, but there was no harm to his words. Only curiosity.

Vladimir looked down at his hands, at his tattoos. He knew what he had done and he knew The Lord condemned those actions.

“Sometimes, life forces us to sin,” Vladimir said. It was this logic that had carried his faith through his crooked life.

Oleg nodded in agreement.

“Can’t argue with that. Though I must ask you; do you think that all sins are forgivable?”

“You obviously aren’t a religious man yourself, Oleg,” Vladimir said with an amused huff.

“What do you mean?”

“Sin isn’t some… crime against God’s divine law. It doesn’t stain our souls. It’s simply imperfection, whatever keeps us from being united with God.” The priest that visited the orphanage once a week had told him those words. He hadn’t understood them then, and still had difficulty to.

“And no sin is worse than the other?”

“Not in the eyes of God.”

“What about your eyes?”

This started to feel more and more like a cross examination. Vladimir couldn’t see what end Oleg had in mind; either he wanted Vladimir to confess the sin that had disgraced his thoughts for the last couple of months, something that he would never do, or he wanted to establish dominance through knowledge. There was something in the way he asked the questions that suggested he knew. Vladimir didn’t like it.

“I don’t know,” Vladimir said, even if he did know. Of course there were sins worse than others, especially the sin that shamed him this very moment. But he wouldn’t tell Oleg that. “Why do you ask?”

“I was curious,” Oleg said with a shrug, before adding, “and worried.”

“What do you have to worry about?” Vladimir asked him.

“My soul. I have committed so many sins; my hands are blackened with them. I have never atoned for them, never even tried. If we don’t get out of here, I will go straight to whatever hell God has in store for me.” Oleg was far from young, but he was strong. Stronger than Alexei, maybe even stronger than Anatoly. The thought of him not making it out of there was disheartening. Still, his worry wasn’t surprising.

“My friend,” Vladimir started, because he no longer felt threatened by the man’s questions, “do not worry, we will get out of here. But even if we don’t, you will escape hell if you ask forgiveness with an honest heart.”

Oleg nodded and leaned back against the wall. Vladimir’s answer had satisfied him.

“We will get out,” Oleg repeated quietly to himself.

Vladimir direly hoped so. Once they were out of there, they could start anew. Once they got out of there, his misdirected feelings for Anatoly could find a real target. Once they got out of there, things would get better.

Steady footsteps drew near. They all knew what it meant; the guards would come in, pick one or two of them and take them out to a room where a questioning would take place.

Vladimir stood up, prepared to take this round. Better him than Anatoly; he was questioned last time. Besides, the pain of the questioning would take the pain away from his empty stomach.

Oleg studied him for a moment before asking,

“Are you protecting him?”

Oleg didn’t need to say who he was talking about; there was only one person Vladimir was willing to take a beating for nowadays, and that person was slumbering at his feet.

He met Oleg’s eyes and nodded silently. Half a second later, the thick door to their cell opened with a whining screech.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't have written this chapter without my wonderful friend [Kilerya](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kilerya). Thank you!

At the age of 14 and 15, Vladimir and Anatoly had escaped the government’s claws. They had had help, of course, but it probably would’ve happened sooner rather than later either way.

At the time they had been living at a group home, since the orphanage only had responsibility for them until they reached the age of twelve. The home was very different from the orphanage; there were no obligatory masses or prayers, the food was more varied, and they had fewer duties. Sure, they were still to make their beds and help with the cleaning, but aside from that, they were left to their own devices. Naturally, they strayed as they bounced between the home and the shitty public school they attended.

It was nothing big; just some shoplifting and vandalism. But it was enough to draw the eye of a man named Anton. He saw their potential, what they could be, what he could turn them into. So he watched them, waited them out. It didn’t take long for them to notice the heavily tattooed, red-bearded man.

“What do you think he wants?” Vladimir had asked Anatoly one day when they were returning home, pockets heavy with loot and with Anton’s eyes on them.

Anatoly turned out to have several thoughts about what Anton could want from them, so they kept wary for another couple of weeks. Anton was still around, watching, keeping eye contact every time they looked back. It was eerie, and very exciting.

Eventually, the brothers gathered enough courage to stomp up to him and ask him what he wanted. Anton had told them they had potential and that there was a place for them amongst his people, if they wanted it.

They did. So far, all they had been in life were anonymous faces in an orphanage and then a group home, forced to sit in a classroom and listen to outdated teachings that would prepare them for nothing but a mediocre future. Vladimir didn’t want that. Anatoly didn’t want that. They exchanged a long look before accepting Anton’s offer. And so, they had escaped from that life to start a new one, had escaped the group home to never return.

Now, it was time for another escape. From Utkin, from Siberia, from Russia.

Vladimir had worked on an escape plan, which he intentionally kept blurry since they would need to adapt to new situations. Details changed all the time. He didn’t know exactly when they would make their great escape, not until the moment presented itself.

Alexei died from the injuries he attained during a questioning. It wasn’t surprising; he was an old man. For hours, he lay coughing and bleeding with his head in Oleg’s lap. Oleg’s had caressed his hair with quiet resignation, but sadness had been radiating from him. Vladimir had never asked exactly what they were to each other; they had been thrown into this cell together, just like Vladimir and Anatoly. They could be brothers, friends, even lovers… their interactions hadn’t given the nature of their relationship away.

The guards let Alexei’s body remain in the cell after his last breath had left him. They knew it would make them uncomfortable. Anatoly covered Alexei’s body with the one coarse blanket they had. At least it was so cold that he didn’t start to smell.

One morning, not many days after Alexei’s passing, Oleg and Anatoly were brought out for questioning. Vladimir hated waiting for them to return, hated it even more than the questionings. The guards had been at it for months, maybe even years. What were they hoping to get out of them? They did have valuable information, yes, but they hadn’t given it up yet and never would.

Rats were gathering around Alexei’s body, squeaking and nosing, eating. Oleg had tried to keep them off the best he could, but they had managed to sneak beneath the blanket anyway. Vladimir watched them like in a trance. The idea came to him piece by piece, completing his half-finished plan. With fingers that were numb from the cold air surrounding him, Vladimir removed the blanket. Yes, the rats had eaten quite a bit; a large part of Alexei’s rib cage was exposed.

The most important thing Anton had taught them was to always have a weapon. In here they had been pathetically vulnerable and left without even a spoon to fend for themselves. But now, Vladimir could see a potential weapon; Alexei’s ribs.

Without a second thought, Vladimir dug his hands into the large wound. It took a lot of strength to break off one rib, but he managed. The blood had mostly coagulated and Alexei’s insides were no longer warm. It was a disappointment.

Fingers dark and sticky, Vladimir started working on the single bone he had ripped from Alexei’s body; hone it, fashion it into a shiv of his liking.

 

* * *

 

Vladimir heard angry yells, footsteps, everything that indicated that Anatoly and Oleg were being brought back. He stayed where he sat on the floor, leaning back against the wall. He’d need all the strength he could muster up for the escape. Tonight, it had to be tonight.

The door opened and the guards threw in Anatoly. He landed hard on the concrete floor. The door closed again without having let through another prisoner.

“Where’s Oleg?” Vladimir asked his brother. Anatoly raised his head from the floor, but it seemed to be as much as he could manage.

“It’s just us now,” he answered, voice weak. He didn’t get up; he must’ve been more hurt than Vladimir first thought.

“We don’t need anyone else,” Vladimir said, ignoring the stick of pain he felt in his chest at the thought of Oleg being gone, as he moved to Anatoly’s side. He grabbed his brother and dragged him to the wall, ignoring Anatoly’s pained protests. “Only each other.”

It had always been only the two of them, really.

Vladimir patted Anatoly’s chest lightly and then leaned back himself. They could rest for a while. God knew Anatoly needed it.

“Soon it’ll be just you, Volodya,” Anatoly said, forcing the words off his tongue. He was more hurt than Vladimir first thought; he was ready to give up. Vladimir shook his head.

“No, my brother.  We leave here together.” Vladimir reached into his pocket and found the shiv he’d made while waiting. He held it up for his brother to see. “Tonight.” _It had to be tonight._

Anatoly looked at the shiv, his mind already calculating enough of Vladimir’s plan. Confusion clouded his expression though.

“Where did you get this?” He asked.

“A gift… from Alyosha,” Vladimir replied. The nickname slipped past his lips before he could stop it. It hardly seemed appropriate to be so familiar with a man whose ribs he had ripped out not many hours ago.

Anatoly didn’t answer, just turned the shiv in his hands, inspecting it.

“The guards shouldn’t have left him for the rats,” Vladimir continued as he left Anatoly’s side to once again turn over Alexei’s body and dig into his ribs. They both needed to be armed.

“Will we see Moscow?” Anatoly mumbled, hopeful.

“Moscow?” Of course; his brother had always been fond of Moscow. “It’s a city buried in the past.” Buried beneath the rubbles of their empire. “We must look to the future; America, where we will rule as kings.”

It took effort to break another rib from Alexei, but at last he did. He honed it while Anatoly rested. While he worked, he whispered the plan of their escape to Anatoly.

A couple of hours later, it was time for their daily meal. It was given to them almost every day now that their captors had realised that starving them wouldn’t make them yield. The guard pushed the bowl in through the food slot. The atmosphere in the cell was heavy with anticipation; it was time. Vladimir moved to the food slot.

“Hey! My brother is hurt, he needs help,” he yelled through the small opening.

The guard’s footsteps returned.

“Do you think we care?” The guard asked, sounding tired rather than mocking.

“Please,” Vladimir pleaded, “help him.”

The guard started to retreat.

“Wait!” Vladimir yelled, sounding as desperate as he was aiming for. “What if I tell you everything you want to know, hm? Will you help him then?”

The guard stood still in silence for a moment, then he called over the comm for another guard to come and help him. Bingo.

Vladimir stood up; Anatoly already stood beside him, prepared. His heart pumped violently in his chest, getting ready for fight _and_ flight.

The guards had barely opened the door before he and Anatoly leaped forward. Their targets yelped in surprise, but were quickly silenced by a punch in the gut or a kick to the crotch. From there, it wasn’t very hard to grab them by the hair and expose their throats even in the high collar their uniforms had. Almost in synch they stabbed each guard’s carotid artery with their sharpened shivs, making dark, warm blood spill over their hands, the uniforms, and the floor with a dull slosh.

With some effort they dragged the dead guards into their cell and stripped them of their clothing. The uniforms would work both as camouflage and protection against the cold outdoors. After being insufficiently dressed for such a long time, the rough fabric of the uniform's jacket felt like silk against Vladimir's skin. He didn't have time to savour the feeling though; they needed to move fast if they wanted a chance at escaping this place.

Anatoly held up a keychain he found in the uniform he was wearing.

“Step one; get out of the cell and get the keys,” he said with a small smile. Now it was time for step two; create chaos.

Backs against the wall, they hurriedly made their way through the corridors. They needed to sneak out undetected; there was no way that they would be able to fight their way out. They opened every cell they passed and told every half-dead inmate that they were their salvation, that they were on their side, that they were here to let them out. The freed inmates trailed after them like sheeps after a shepherd. Vladimir hated to have them at his back, especially when he wore the guard’s uniform. It was only a matter of time before the other inmates would turn on them.

“Why are we trusting them?” A young man — too young to be there — asked his much older companion.

“Their uniforms are bloody and they’re limping. They are not guards; they are our brothers.”

Vladimir supposed he should feel bad about using his ‘brothers’ like this, but he didn’t. He had to prioritise his real brother, and himself.

It wasn’t hard to spur on the attack on the first couple of guards they met. The inmates tore them apart before stealing their keys; some let out more inmates, others searched for freedom.  
It also wasn’t hard for Vladimir and Anatoly to fall back behind the crowd and disappear through another door. They made sure to lock it afterwards. They were going in the opposite direction of the crowd of inmates they had released; the crowd was spreading through the facilities, wreaking havoc, and would eventually make it to the front yard. That was the path they had set them on, while they took their escape by the backyard.

By the time they were out in the open, there were already shouts and barking and guns sounding through the air. But they were on the other side of the building, away from the focus. The fresh air wasn’t as pleasant as Vladimir had dreamed about; it was still cold as fuck and big, cotton-like snowflakes were making it hard to see. As if this escape wasn’t difficult enough.

“Come on,” he told Anatoly, “we have to keep moving.” Already he felt the strain in his body, a wish to lie down and rest, and the same feeling reflected clearly in every move his brother made. They had to trust in the adrenaline to carry them now.

They crossed the snow covered grounds with hurried steps, reaching the tall fence surrounding the area. It was not easy to see through the darkness, but Vladimir knew that a forest grew beyond the fence. He had seen it when they first arrived, a long time ago.

“Step three; climb…” Vladimir mumbled and looked up at the high fence. Had it been this high before?

“Is that barbed wire?” Anatoly asked, the corners of his mouth slanted down in displeasure.

“Climb carefully,” Vladimir answered with a shrug while his eyes searched for a height-break.

When they found one, Anatoly climbed first with Vladimir not far behind; that way he could keep an eye on his brother. They climbed as fast as they could with their injured, tired bodies. Every movement, every pull upwards, every hold ached. By the time they’d reached the top and swung over the barbed wire with some difficulty and a couple of deep scratches to show for it, their fingers were numbed by the biting cold air and the freezing metal lattice that was their climbing wall. Now all that remained was climbing down.

 

* * *

 

They were running – no, stumbling – through the forest, Vladimir's hand tight around Anatoly's wrist, leading him, dragging him with him. It was dark and they needed to stay together. Vladimir's feet hurt from running in the guard’s too small boots, and the blood that covered the uniform had frozen and made it hard to move. His whole body ached after using it properly for the first time in months. With every step he expected to hear dogs barking at their heels, but the only sounds around them now were their own heavy breathing and the occasional cracking of sticks. The forest was wrapped in the kind silence that only snow could offer. The cold bit at their faces, the wind whistled through their clothes, but they didn't care. The only thing on their mind was to push forward, forward, forward, without knowing where to.

"Wait!" Anatoly said and stopped.

Vladimir was about to pull on his arm; they couldn't stop, if they stopped they'd be doomed. But before he could urge his brother to a sprint again, Anatoly told him to look ahead. Vladimir did; it was dark as death, with snow clouds hiding both moon and stars. He squinted, and saw what Anatoly saw; smoke. A single pillar of thin, grey smoke.

"Smoke…" he breathed out.

"Smoke means people. People mean houses. Houses mean–"

"Roads." Vladimir couldn't help the breathy laugh that escaped from his throat. They had ran out into the woods like blind men, and a small prayer of guidance had thudded in Vladimir's brain ever since. He had hoped to find their way back to the road leading to Utkin and follow it back to civilisation, but this was just as good, maybe even better.

"Houses also mean supplies. _Food_ ,” Anatoly told him. “You still got your shiv?"

"Of course."

 

* * *

 

An elderly couple lay at their feet; throats bleeding, eyes emptied of all life. Their small house had been the only one around, and Vladimir and Anatoly had snuck in with ease. The couple had been up, despite the late hour, sitting by the old iron oven where embers glowed. The warmth was more than welcome, crawling over their ice cold bodies.

"I saw a car outside; we leave in an hour." They couldn't stay longer, not this close to Utkin. They had been running for hours, so the riot would’ve been shut down by now, and the guards would learn that two brothers were missing.

“An hour? We can afford to stay the night,” Anatoly said.

“It’s too risky. We’re still too close to Utkin.”

“The weather is bad; they probably won’t send out a search party until the morning.”

“There’s no guarantee of that. Besides, if we go to bed here, we’ll pass out for God knows how long… It’s better if we sleep in the car. It will be uncomfortable enough to keep us from sleeping for too long.”

“Vladimir,” Anatoly put a hand on his arm and looked up at him with the most damned puppy eyes in existence, “we can at least stay for a hot meal. We need to rest.”

“Fine,” Vladimir said and stepped away from Anatoly’s treacherous hand, “if you want to eat with two dead bodies at your feet, we can. But we stay no more than two hours, got it?”

Anatoly nodded before disappearing into the house, then shouted that he had found a small washroom. He washed up while Vladimir found the most valuable things in the house; there weren't much. The couple's solitary life had resulted in farming during the summer and eating out of cans during the winter.

Vladimir found a rucksack and filled it with food and whatever money and jewellery he could find. After a while Anatoly stepped into the kitchen, dressed in the old farmer's clothes. They fit badly, but they beat guard garb any day.

"Here," Anatoly said and held up a fold of clothes, "this was the best I could find."

"How are your injuries?" Vladimir asked.

"Not fatal. There's a first aid kit in the bathroom."

Vladimir took the clothes from Anatoly and went into the washroom. It was messy in there; blood spotted the sink, the corner of the mirror and the floor. The remains of filthy water lay like a film over the bottom of the sink. On the floor he saw a towel, ruined by blood and dirt.

Vladimir followed Anatoly's example and filled the sink with water before dipping another towel in it and starting to scrub himself. He thanked god that the water was cold, otherwise he could've been convinced to stay for a full bath. The soap made his every wound and cut sting angrily, and the long gash across his face he didn't even dare touch.

He was in the middle of patching himself up using whatever he could find in the first aid when Anatoly entered the room.

"Food's almost ready," he said.

"I'm almost done," Vladimir answered. In the mirror he saw Anatoly's studying eyes zeroing in on his face, on the gash.

"Can I see?" Anatoly asked.

With a sigh, Vladimir turned around and leaned back against the sink. Anatoly took a step forward, into Vladimir's personal space. His breath ghosted over Vladimir's lips, warm and tempting.

Vladimir wanted to kiss him, but was glad that he didn't, because a second later he would've bitten his tongue off; Anatoly pressed an antiseptic napkin to the gash. Vladimir didn't scream, but he wanted to. Instead he stood still, hissing and cursing. Anatoly took no notice of his words as he cleaned his wound.

"You might need stitches," he said after a few moments.

"Fuck that. Just tape it."

Anatoly shrugged and did as he was told. The tape was old and wouldn’t hold for long, but it was better than Anatoly’s needlework; Vladimir had other scars to prove that.

“How’s the ear?” So he had noticed that too. Vladimir had thought he’d gotten rid of all the blood.

“What are you, my doctor?” Anatoly rolled his eyes at that.

“I just want to know what state you’re in.”

“… My eardrum has burst,” Vladimir said. He wasn’t sure, but considering the beating he took, he’d be surprised if his eardrum wasn’t burst. _Always hit them at the ear_ , that’s what Anton had taught him. No wonder why; it hurt like a bitch.

“Will you be okay to drive?” Anatoly asked him. He looked at his brother; his eyes were almost as unfocused as they had been back in Utkin and his stance was slightly bent forwards in pain.

“Of course,” Vladimir said and patted Anatoly’s shoulder before getting dressed.

They ate in silence, mostly because they were too occupied with savouring the real, warm food. Anatoly hadn’t made much food (something about the body needing to adjust), but it was enough to leave Vladimir in a sated state afterwards. He leaned back in the chair and took advantage of the limited moment of rest. He glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall; their two hours were almost up.

“We need to leave,” he said to Anatoly and got up, body protesting.

They found the car keys on a hook beside the door and took off, following the thin, pitted road towards their next goal.


End file.
